Mindfuck
by lostlikeme
Summary: A "mindfuck" is an idea or concept that shakes one's previously held beliefs or assumptions about the nature of reality. In other words, what does Reigen Arataka really know about Mob? Warning for explicit content.


The first time really catches me off guard. It's a little after five o'clock and I've already washed my hands of all the exorcisms for the day. Just as I'm bending to tie my shoe a gust of wind topples me over from behind. Something noiseless and loud swallows the beat of my heart, unthreading the buttons on my shirt until they roll across the tile. My tie loosens and slides down my chest, playfully teasing my navel before falling limp. Sunlight filters through the half drawn blinds and a dog barks outside.

"Mob?"

A good thirty seconds pass in silence while I stare at the crumpled heap of fabric. It remains still, even when I push it around with the tip of my shoe. I retrieve the buttons and stuff them into my pocket with a sigh, chalking the whole thing up to a little leftover voodoo from my last client. (A six year old with a haunted bicycle, you should have seen this thing.)

Overall, not something I can't shake off. That is, until it happens again. The second instance is less obvious but more significantly harrowing. I'm just finishing up in the bathroom when the roll of toilet paper begins unraveling, slow at first and then all at once. Before I can spring from the toilet seat it rises up like a serpent and coils around my ankles, creeping up my bare legs. What kind of monster attacks a man while he's on the shitter?

"Release me, demon!"

The paper wilts under the spray of my urine (re: special move) and plops onto the tile in a mushy yellow mess. At this point, I'm thinking, okay, yeah. Maybe I'm being haunted. The most likely culprit is obvious...some kind of sexually transmitted poltergeist (STP). Either that, or a sex demon. My best bet is to have it exorcised immediately. I'm also kind of fighting the urge to get my dick looked at (it's haunted, not infected, right?)

The third time, I'm reaching across my desk for my cellphone but I end up glued to its surface, ass on display for anyone who might walk in. I'm not even that kind of attention whore, you know? I try unsticking myself but the stapler takes to the air, unhinged before slamming against the desk in rapid succession, leaving me stapled to the wood by the sides of my sleeves. I try kicking out a leg and my pants tear down the back seam.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, well...that's just embarrassing.

The temperature in the air shifts and an icy draft blows through the newly formed rip. The hair on my neck rises with fresh goosebumps. I haven't felt this helpless since having my head shoved in a toilet when I was a kid. The atmosphere ripples, pinning me tightly and ghosting across the shell of my ear.

 _Touch yourself._ It feels like a suggestion, but it isn't. It's a compulsion, and I can't stop. I snake a hand between my legs to pull at myself through my clothes, flinging staples across the room in the process. Everything feels urgent, like if I don't free my dick soon I'm going to die trying. I gasp when my hand is finally crammed inside my underwear, the muscles in my thighs jump and something like an electric current burrows itself under my skin. I haven't felt a desperation like this since my second year of junior high.

I can feel myself being pulled into the air before it happens. An invisible force yanks my legs apart, displaying the tent from my erection. Logic dictates I should be scared but lust is screaming YOLO so loud even my thundering heartbeat can't drown it out. Something sunken grabs at the edge of my subconsciousness, sucking me deeper into the spike of pleasure rising in my balls.

Mob's even tone slips through the suffocating shroud. "Master?"

My vision returns in a kaleidoscope of color, tongue heavy against my palate. "Mob," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "What a relief to see you here."

The words hang like cheap streamers, limp and ineffective. It's not actually a relief, and he knows it. My hand stills around my dick as the puzzle pieces fall into place. His suppressed libido must be manifesting as dark magic and acting on its own! Mob watches for longer than he should, shocked speechless at the sight of his mentor spread eagle in the open air.

"I'm sorry!"

The energy vanishes in a burst of red smoke and I hit the ground with a thud. I'm getting too old for this kind of shit. One of these days, my back is going to give out. I roll my shoulders and take a deep breath before tucking myself back into my pants. Panic swallows Mob hard, head bowed while mortification robs him of brevity. I glance around the mess my office has become and back to Mob and the heavy mood fermenting inside him.

"I think you're taking this too seriously," I try reassuring him. "Every boy experiences...certain problems from time to time on his quest for manhood."

"Really?" Mob's entire face is pink. "Even you?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle a similar reaction. "Really." I'm trying not to think about my own conquests during a time like this. "Even me."

When I was his age, I could hardly keep my hands to myself. Morning, noon, and night, I was pretty much ready to blow a load whenever. With powers like his, he could accidentally crush a building with this much pent up sexual frustration. Since I'm the one helping Mob develop his powers, it's only fair that I take responsibility.

I rub my arms to generate warmth, talking to break up the tension. "Now, what about with girls?" I take a deep breath at the sight of Mob's blank expression. "By yourself then?"

Mob shakes his head, slow and unblinking. The desk drawer opens with a slam and a ream of paper slides off. I rest my fingers on my temples, trying to keep a straight face with my cock swelling in my pants. Even if he's no good with girls, doesn't he know about mobile porn? When this is all said and done with, I'll definitely have to shoot Mob a couple quality links.

"You need to find an outlet for your pent up emotions, okay?" Mob nods, but doesn't speak. "At your age, shouldn't you at least be masturbating? No matter what anyone else tells you, masturbation is a perfectly healthy habit."

"Everytime I try..." Mob wrings out his hands and pencils sail above my head like deadly arrows and become imbedded in the wall. "I break something."

A dangerous aura crackles around us and the chair splinters as Mob approaches. His fists are wrapped tight, trembling in front of his thighs. Even from here I can tell how tightly he's wound. I turn to him and mime an obscene gesture with a grin.

"But you know how, right?" There's really no polite way to talk about spanking the monkey. "Because as your mentor, I can offer a special service. A kid your age needs to be able to jerk off without worrying about blowing up his whole house. I can fix that. With me to supervise, you can unwind without worry." Shut the fuck up. Am I saying what I think I'm saying? "Since you're such a good kid, I won't even charge you."

The lightbulb above us flickers and then combusts in a blinding flash, cloaking the room in darkness. It's hard to make out Mob's face like this, and until my eyes adjust all I can see is the blurry curve of his cheek and two shiny white sclera tracking me. His teeth appear in a crescent moon when he speaks.

He scuffs his shoe against the floor, voice barely a whisper. "I can't do it with you watching."

Somehow this feels less real than the toilet paper demon. I crack my neck and straighten my posture, sweat beading on my forehead. I turn half away to offer the illusion of privacy. It's bad enough he has to figure this out with an old man like me breathing down his neck.

"I'm not gonna look, I'm just going to direct if things start to get troublesome."

In the quiet evening I can hear every metal clink as Mob pulls down his fly. He shifts in my peripheral vision, shoulders hunched, expression hidden behind the bangs of his hair. There aren't any actual insects but the whole space sounds like it's scurrying; alive. Even from this angle I can tell Mob's doing it all wrong. His elbows lock up as he strokes himself, robotic and forced.

"Hey," I say softly, trying not to spook him further. "Ease up a little." If we're gonna do this, we're going to do it right. "Remember, a watched pot never boils."

The movement creates rhythm between his clothes and skin, a steady shuffle. I catch a glimpse of Mob's face in the window reflection, brow sweaty and unfocused. The glass cracks as his chest heaves, shattering when he opens his mouth in a silent groan. I flinch at the scratches on my knuckles when I push the desk back onto the ground.

"Let's keep that where it belongs," I remind him.

A shadow six times his size sprouts limbs and climbs the wall behind his head until it reaches the ceiling. It spreads and swallows everything up like spilled ink. The voice from earlier is burrowing into my brain, urging me to _touch_ , but I would rather bust in my own pants than lose it over a kid. As long as we never touch, I'm not doing anything wrong, right? The demand laps at my consciousness as Mob accelerates the pace, breathless and greedy.

"Remember, you can let go without going all out. Twist it a little. Find out what feels good but don't rush." I can't stop picturing it in my head, the way his cock must be pulsing as he glides over it again and again. "Fuck your fist, that's it." I'm trying not to lose my cool but my endurance is starting to slip. I feel like I'm suffocating under my shirt collar. "When you cum, don't break everything, okay?"

I can hear how slick Mob is in the palm of his own hand, faster with each iteration. He's always been a fast learner, but this is something else. Give him ten years and he'll be eating guys like me for dinner. His hips stutter to a halt and he twitches reflexively, knees locked together. The waves of power flatten me against the wall, cock pulsing behind the elastic band of my underwear.

The monster on the ceiling opens it's mouth in a silent scream before being sucked back into Mob's skull. His body crumples and then ascends with a whimper, the sockets of his eyes hollow and blown out. I'm half waiting for his head to twist around and puke pea soup when he drops like a dead weight and falls into my arms. I lower him to the ground, supporting the brunt of his body with an arm under his waist.

He sways for a moment before his equilibrium readjusts. "Is that the first time you've..." I force my gaze away from the spunk drying on his uniform and help him to his feet in a hurry so he doesn't notice my raging boner. "Don't answer that."

Mob winces when I clap a hand on his back. "Good job." I swallow, foot impatient against the floor. I adjust the crotch of my pants, trying to look casual. "But you'll need more practice if you want to pursue girls safely."

"Thank you." I toss Mob a box of tissues and he smiles, small and smug. "I'll do my best."


End file.
